As soon as, when it was done, when there was time, she would go back to Azuremyst. Blade’s Edge Mountains stoked a choking heat, a cold heat that crept into her skin, deceptive, a flash point of combustion that always caught her off-guard. Repeatedly thrown from her mount, from unsafe heights, barely surviving, confused by whether to bomb or banish. The fel fire chilled, then burned over time, acidic. On the emerald-scaled grass of home, she would lie, fingers brushing tips of blades, no armor, and dream of warm, blue kisses. Momentum building, fast as an arrow, target: home.